“It’s a big world, Delaney. Ordinary, in nature and design, isn’t really a very interesting place, all things considered.”

  He was being awfully even-tempered about all this. “You told me Dad waited too long before he chose a side.”

  Odin drank coffee, his one good eye watching me over the rim of the mug. I noted the bottom of the mug said: “#1 Beaver Bait”.

  I lifted my cup to see what logging slang was painted there. It said: “Ask about my Butt Rigging.”

  “Really? No pecker pole jokes?”

  “There are more mugs in the kitchen.”

  “My dad,” I said. “What did he wait too long to choose?”

  Odin put his cup down, and studied me in that way the very old gods do, especially the ones who have known me since I was a baby. It was sort of a mix of patience and concern, like they weren’t sure I was old enough to handle what they were about to say.

  “Immortality.”

  Okay. That was not what I expected. We Reeds lived a long life. Well, those of us who didn’t drive off cliffs. There was one great-to-the-nth aunt who was said to have hit one-hundred and fifty years of age. I didn’t know if that was true, but most of the Reeds were capable of rolling into the early one-hundreds at least.

  It was either gift, curse, or by-product of being a part of keeping Ordinary vacation-ready for the gods.

  But immortality? That had never been on offer.

  “What’s the catch?”

  “Why do you think there’s a catch?”

  I wasn’t used to Odin doing the wise-man thing. I was more used to him doing the gruff, crazy chainsaw artist thing.

  “Because Dad didn’t immediately say yes.”

  “True. But he had lost a wife. Had three young daughters to raise. Death changes every man’s heart.”

  “Is that something I will be offered?”

  “Immortality is generally only offered to a bridge. That’s you, Delaney.”

  “So Myra and Jean?”

  “Immortality isn’t their destiny.”

  Already I was seeing the downside to this offer. Did I want to live long enough to see my sisters, maybe even everyone that I loved die? Would it be worth it to keep Ordinary safe?

  “Who or what will give it to me? If I said yes. Not that I am. Saying yes.”

  “A god. Of your choice.”

  Something about those words felt ominous.

  “And what do I owe to a god who would hypothetically offer me immortality?”

  “That would be between you and the god in question.”

  “Would you give it to me if I asked for it?”

  “You’d have to ask me.”

  “Did my father ask you for it?”

  “Your father never asked anyone for it. Then that choice was taken from him, and it was too late.”

  “Was he killed? Was that accident not an accident?”

  Odin picked up his coffee, took a drink. There was something else in his gaze this time. I thought it might be regret.

  “That is a question I can’t answer.”

  “You mean won’t answer. You could know, could find out if you wanted to.”

  He turned the cup in his hand. Balanced it on the arm of his chair. “I’m a god. Well, not right now, but...” he shrugged. “There is very little that can be hidden from our kind.”

  “If I wanted to know if his death was an accident, would you tell me?”

  “Maybe. Or not.” He ran a hand over his bushy hair, causing it to spring up even higher. “Until you decide to ask me that when I am a god, the possibilities are fluid. Every second, every breath, every action and inaction affects the future. If you ask me, if I decide to tell you, when you ask, when I decide...it all muddles the outcome.”

  He’d have to pick up his god power to answer me. I wasn’t sure I was ready for him to have to walk out of Ordinary for a year. After all, I’d come here to ask him to look after the powers for the next year.

  “Okay, new question. If I accept immortality from a god, then I’d be bound to that god, wouldn’t I? Just as if I had accepted the warden position, I’d be bound to Mithra.”

  “That’s how it works, yes.”

  Poor Ryder had no idea what he’d just gotten himself into.

  “I wouldn’t have ever accepted the position as a warden.”

  “I know. Your father never said yes to Mithra either.”

  “He said it would change what we stood for as Reeds. What we did to help keep Ordinary ordinary.”

  “Your father was a wise man.”

  I was silent for a bit, drinking my coffee out of the tree stump not because I needed more caffeine, but because I needed a moment to swallow the emotions that rose with Odin’s quiet assessment of my dad.

  For all that Odin was mostly a cranky old chainsaw artist, he was also a god of wisdom. It meant something when he said things like that. Nice things.

  “Was he right?” I asked, my voice a little smaller than I’d expected. “There’s a cost to it, isn’t there? Some huge horrible price to pay for being judge and jury over the town.”

  “Probably. But the warden isn’t exactly judge and jury over Ordinary.”

  “Devotee to Mithra, the god of contracts. How is that not a judge and jury position?”

  “Warden is an overseer. A supervisor of contracts, deals, and agreements. Doesn’t mean warden gets to lay the law down on everything. That’s what that badge of yours is for. He just gets to point out who’s cheating.”

  “Great. So I’m the strong arm and he’s my boss?”

  He gave me a brief scowl. “Why are you in my living room complaining about things I have absolutely nothing to do with? Another god’s minion is of no matter to me.”

  Like I said, cranky.

  “I need you to look after the powers for a year and a few months.”

  “Crow finally got himself kicked out of the place.”

  “He should have left three months ago. I’m correcting that mistake now.”

  “Mistake?” He hrumphed. “Might be just as well to have him out there for the year.”

  “So he’s out of your hair?”

  A clever edge slipped into his eyes. “He’s a trickster. Don’t you think this might be exactly what he wanted to happen?”

  “No?”

  “How many stories of tricksters have ended with the trickster not getting what they wanted?”

  Exactly zero came to mind.

  “This isn’t a story,” I said. “This is real life.”

  “And the tricksters of the stories are based on whom, exactly?”

  “He probably wrote all those stories and just made sure he was always the winner. As a matter of fact, some stories say you’re a devious, inscrutable trickster yourself.”

  “Your point is?”

  That maybe I shouldn’t really trust you either.

  Yeah, well if I started thinking that about Odin, I might as well think that about all the gods. Stories were stories. What the gods did as gods wasn’t necessarily what the gods did on vacation.

  “My point is I need these powers hidden, locked away, and safe. It’s your turn to keep them.”

  The sound of cars arriving interrupted us.

  “You invited all the gods out here to witness this, didn’t you?”

  “Only the ones who wanted to make sure their powers are going to be taken care of.”

  He sighed a particularly put-upon sigh. “Fine.”

  Engines quieted as cars parked, the creak and slam of doors opening and closing.

  “Hera wasn’t wrong,” Odin said, his eye owl-bright, burning blue, watching me.

  “That there’s a war coming to Ordinary?”

  “It’s already begun.”

  It didn’t exactly come as a shock to me, though it wasn’t the cheeriest news I’d ever gotten.

  “Sven murdered, four dead vampire hunters, Ben missing, and Jame left beaten and broken? Yeah, I didn’t think it was the start of parade season
. Rossi and Granny are about to throw down.”

  “The vampires and werewolves have never really been at peace. More like a cease-fire. That is not the war you should fear.”

  “What war should I fear?”

  “The war for dark magic.”

  Okay. That was new.

  “Dark magic? That’s a thing?” As far as I knew whatever magic there was in the world was just that: magic. Not light, not dark, not good or bad, or any of the other defining characteristics we humans applied to such things.

  “I want you to give me your word on something, Delaney.”

  So much for getting the confirmation on dark magic.

  Outside, the sound of footsteps were coming closer to the house. I could hear conversation, some grumbling, some laughter. But I could not for the life of me look away from Odin’s steady gaze.

  “Promise me you will be very, very careful in the upcoming days.”

  It was such a weird request I just frowned. “I’m always careful.”

  “Be more careful.”

  “Why? How?”

  “Because you are a target. And any way you can be, obviously.”

  Obviously. So helpful.

  Then the door swung open—apparently none of the gods nor my sister and Ryder felt like knocking.

  I, however, felt like someone had just thumped me hard in the chest.

  Odin complained, loudly and at length that he didn’t like his house being violated by everyone in town who didn’t know how to wipe the mud off their boots, and why hadn’t anyone knocked, and it wasn’t like he was going to keep the powers inside, so get the hell out of his living room.

  It all sort of washed over me like an ocean wave, while I sat there, his previous words a boulder trapping me flat to the ocean floor.

  Myra caught my gaze over the crowd of quickly departing gods, and I gave her a wobbly smile. I pushed up to my feet, my hand falling to the bottle of powers still in my coat.

  It was still there, one problem solved and almost off my to-do list. That was good, right? Something positive had come out of this day? I could deal with the war, with dark magic all in good time.

  If I had time.

  “Are you all right?” Myra asked as I headed toward the door. Piper was next to Jean, looking a little wide-eyed, but trying not to show it.

  “Enough. I’ll tell you after we’re done. Let’s get these powers put away.”

  Her light blue gaze shifted across my face as if looking for injury or lie there. Finding neither, she nodded. “Ten bucks if you can guess where he’s going to keep them.”

  It was a thing we did. It was childish. We did it anyway.

  “In a hollow log.” I said.

  “Gasoline can.”

  “Tool cabinet.”

  “Chainsaw.”

  We had followed the crowd of gods out to wherever Odin had decided to stash the powers. Past a pile of discarded wood lumps that looked like they’d been mauled by a herd of mutant woodchuck termites, around his garbage can, burn barrel, and into the corner of his back yard that ended at the tree line of what seemed to be endless forest.

  Right there, shining like a drop of molten silver between an old elm and older ash tree, was an Airstream travel trailer.

  “Trailer,” I said, even though our guesses were up. “Didn’t even know he had one.”

  He not only had a trailer, he also had a big gray V-8 pickup parked in front of it with vanity plates spelling out SLEPNR.

  Odin himself opened the door of the trailer and flicked on a light. The interior seemed to shine in gold, and in the falling light of day, it made the whole thing a lot more mystical than a travel trailer should be.

  I’d never seen the inside of Odin’s trailer, but what I could see from the door looked like all the wall space was taken up with shelves and shelves of books.

  Huh. Not really what I’d expected.

  “All right, all right.” He came back out of the trailer, wiping his broad, nicked-up hands over the jug in his hand.

  No, not a jug. A growler.

  “Let’s do this.” He crooked one finger into the handle and sort of waved the growler toward me.

  “A growler.” That was, I think, Aaron.

  “Old family heirloom. Got it in Norway.”

  It was earthenware, a nice brown and green glaze, the words WELL OF WISDOM were written across it.

  “You can buy that at Bi-Mart,” Zeus muttered.

  “Doesn’t matter, does it?” Odin said. “I’m keeping the powers. They stay where I say they’ll be safe, and I say they’ll be safe in this jug.”

  The gods shuffled a little as a slight mist started pushing down from the tree tops.

  “That’s correct,” Ryder said.

  Every head turned to him. He looked just as shocked as anyone else that those words had come out of his mouth.

  Then all eyes shifted to me.

  “Deities, meet Ordinary’s new warden. Warden Bailey, these are most of the gods of Ordinary.”

  “Ha!” Crow yelled, and pointed at Ryder’s face. “And ha,” he added, swinging a finger my way.

  I was tempted to swing a finger at him too. The middle one.

  “Piper, meet the gods in town.”

  She nodded and smiled like they were the best tippers she’d had all week.

  “Piper is a demigod. Just thought you should all meet her. Mithra made her take the powers. She’s sorry about it and promises it will never happen again.”

  She hadn’t actually promised that, but I was pretty sure she would, if asked.

  “Wait,” Crow said. “Demigod. So who is her parent?”

  No one moved. Someone chuckled uncomfortably.

  I guess I had expected Poseidon to step forward, to recognize her. But this vessel who held Poseidon’s power was at least four Poseidons past the one who had fathered her.

  Then: “Oh.” It was a soft, surprised sound. And Poseidon—the current Poseidon—stepped forward toward her.

  He was a skinny guy, tall enough he had permanently hunched shoulders as if he needed to make himself shorter than he was. His hair was black and pulled back in a ponytail away from his long face. His eyes were wide and shifted between the colors of the sea.

  “Piper?” He held his hands out, looking for recognition on her face. “I see you. I see you now.”

  She took his hands and smiled up at him.

  “Oh,” he said with soft wonder. “You’re beautiful.”

  Piper blushed and that flush of interest in her eyes wasn’t a look a daughter should give her father. Which, technically, he wasn’t. Her father. That man, that vessel had died years ago. This man, this Poseidon was, well, he wasn’t my type, and while he was much older than he looked, so was Piper.

  Were they falling for each other? Was it incest if they were, technically not even related? Was this just another grand way Poseidon was screwing things up?

  My head hurt.“So,” I said to break up the insta-love going on because I could not deal with that right now. “Let’s get these powers stowed.”

  I pulled the water bottle out of my coat and walked over to Odin. There wasn’t a ceremony involved in moving the powers. Well, no more than what was happening today, which was that most of the deities liked to come out and watch the powers actually be transferred.

  Not that gods were untrusting of their fellow deities.

  No, it was exactly that the gods were untrusting of their fellow deities.

  “All righty.” I held up the water bottle that sang, hummed, thrummed with power. I still didn’t know how Piper had shoved it into a water bottle, although if Mithra had given her the bottle, it might make more sense.

  Odin uncorked his growler of wisdom.

  “Odin, do you promise to guard and keep hidden the deity powers of Ordinary for the length of one year plus four months?”

  “Yep.”

  “And you’ll let any deity come to your trailer, and will allow them to see their power, or reclaim their po
wer at any time, day or night?”

  “Yes, but not unless I’m present.”

  “Right. Good. Everyone okay with that?” I looked around the group.

  They looked...well, bored mostly, except for Poseidon who couldn’t tear his gaze away from Piper. It wasn’t like this was the first time we’d done this yearly hand-over.

  “Crow, get in on this.”

  Crow walked over to me, looking like he expected the powers to bite. Which, maybe they would.

  He took the bottle away from me, then tipped it into the spout of the growler.

  Power isn’t liquid. It doesn’t really follow the rules of gravity. Power does, however, follow the will of the gods, and the rules and contracts of Ordinary.

  My father said he saw the powers as bright flaming colors. I see light, yes, but it’s soft and indistinct, more like a rainbow caught from the corner of my vision. What I do sense is the song.

  Power, this much power, all mixing and colliding, created music that swooped down beneath my skin, pulling my pulse and breath and blood and bones to reach, to stretch, to feel the universe strumming through me.

  My heart settled into the beat of the powers, my thoughts picked up and braided into the rising, falling, beauty of voice, chorus, song, song, song...until there was no time, no space, nothing but sound.

  “Well, shit,” Crow said.

  I blinked. Blinked again. I’d lost some time. The gods were all gone, and foggy mist had descended on the forest floor. My mouth was dry and so were my eyes, as if I hadn’t blinked or swallowed for an hour.

  I did both, wincing at the pain and wiping away the tears at the corners of my eyes. Ryder and Myra were still there, Ryder looking like he was trying to decide if he had to burn his atheist badge, Myra looking steady and calm as she offered me a can of ginger ale.

  “Thanks.” I sipped the cool soda. “What’s wrong?” I asked Crow.

  “I have to pick it up.” He was staring at the water bottle like a kicked puppy. “I don’t want to go back to work.”

  Odin humphed and forcefully flipped the stopper back into the growler, locking it down with a little metal lever.

  “You broke the contract with Ordinary,” Ryder said. He walked over and stood next to me, staring at the water bottle with an inscrutable look on his face. “Your...power...uh, you have to take it back.”